Dreamspinner Press Year Three Greatest Hits

by Jenna Hilary Sinclair

  Miller looked around like he was seeing his apartment for the first time. “I’m never home,” he explained. He pointed with a thumb toward a dark doorway. “I’m going to go pack up some stuff.”

  “Okay.”

  Danny wandered over to the bookshelves, drawn by a single framed photograph. It was in a silver frame, the photograph itself faded with age, one corner marred by a bend in the paper. It showed three children—two boys and a girl—and a woman, strands of blonde hair blowing across her laughing face. She had a slight gap between her front teeth and Danny smiled when he saw it, that lone imperfection making her more beautiful somehow. They were all sitting on a porch swing, Miller on his mother’s lap, Junie next to them, her head resting on her mother’s shoulder. And Scott on the opposite end, looking bored and sulky. Miller had two scabbed-over knees, his hair a mass of gold, thick and straight and falling into his eyes even then. He was leaning back against his mother’s chest, covering the hand she had around his belly with his own. Danny guessed he was about seven, right on the cusp of being too old for his mother’s lap, maybe the last summer he could sit there without risking ridicule.

  Danny couldn’t remember ever sitting on his mother’s lap. She was always busy, flitting around like a hummingbird, scared to light anywhere for too long in case his father came in and caught her being unproductive. She didn’t have time for kisses or books or bedtime stories, all her energy channeled into keeping one step ahead of his father’s demands.

  “That’s my mom,” Miller said over Danny’s shoulder, his pointing finger stopping just short of touching her face.

  “I figured. She was beautiful.” Danny turned to Miller. “You look like her.”

  Miller flashed him a sad smile, full of a child’s need. “She had the nicest voice. Low for a woman, smooth. I don’t know how she managed it with three kids, but she never yelled.”

  Danny put the photograph back on the shelf, careful with it, setting it down gently. And then he walked Miller slowly backward, into the wall, easing his mouth down, fingers threading through Miller’s hair.

  “Danny,” Miller breathed between kisses, his tongue playing against Danny’s. “We need to go.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know, I—”

  “That’s not a good enough reason,” Danny teased. “I have something in mind.” He rotated his hips forward, smiling when Miller moaned into his mouth. “Let’s go in your bedroom.” Danny pulled back a little, hands working at the buttons on Miller’s shirt. “I want to make love with you in your bed. So next time you sleep here, you’ll smell me on your sheets and remember.”

  Miller’s eyes clouded over, dark night eclipsing the clear gray. “I won’t need the sheets to remember, Danny,” he whispered. He pushed up Danny’s T-shirt with his hands, thumbs brushing across Danny’s nipples. Danny’s chest muscles tightened, trails of liquid heat streaming down into his belly.

  Their mouths came together, not as frantic as the night before, gentleness behind the joining of tongues and lips. Danny moved down Miller’s throat, back up to blow hot breaths in his ear, laughing softly as Miller squirmed and groaned.

  “You’re always so ticklish right there,” Danny murmured. “Gets you every time.”

  Miller stiffened against him, his hands on Danny’s hips suddenly pushing backward, away from him. “What—” Danny’s question died in his throat when he caught the expression on Miller’s face, shock and shame dancing a slow waltz across his features. Danny knew without looking what caused it, not surprised at all when he turned his head and saw the woman in the doorway, key ring held in her frozen hand, her big eyes blinking in slow motion, not believing what they were seeing.

  “Rachel,” Miller choked out, moving around Danny toward the door.

  Danny pulled down his T-shirt, smoothed back his hair. But there was no way to fix it. No way to pretend what Rachel had seen was anything other than what it was. Miller’s shirt was still half unbuttoned, his hair rumpled from Danny’s fingers, his lips swollen with stubble burn—badges of lust even a blind man could recognize.

  “Miller, what’s going on?” Rachel’s voice was so quiet Danny could barely hear it. She obviously wasn’t the type to chuck pots at Miller’s head or slap the shit out of him the way Amanda had with Danny when she’d found out. “I saw your lights on when I drove by on my way home from work, so I thought I’d come see if you were here, and… and….” Her words drifted away, eyes racing between Danny and Miller, tears pouring out on a sudden gust of comprehension, making her gasp and retch, one hand curled around the doorknob for balance.

  A cruel, numb part of Danny, developed and nurtured through years of hard living, wondered what Miller saw in Rachel. She was pretty in a nondescript kind of way, her light brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, a string of pearls hanging just above the neckline of her pale yellow sweater. There was nothing sexy about her, nothing exciting, every feature bland and average and safe.

  Yeah, but she doesn’t have a felony rap sheet or a shadowy past or a dick, Danny. Three marks squarely in her favor if Miller wants a normal life, right? And let’s be honest, what can you really give him that she can’t? Besides the obvious. I mean, once you’ve got your new life, how long before you’re in trouble again? A month? Two at the outside? That way of life is in your blood now, you know it is. You really want to drag him down with you? Make him give all this up… for what? For you? Talk about a bum deal.

  Danny turned away, walked to the far window and leaned his forehead against the cold glass. He could hear Miller murmuring behind him, Rachel’s sobs punctuated by wails of grief, trying to make sense of something she would never understand. He wondered what Miller was telling her, what lies he was trying to force-feed her, because Danny knew Miller would never tell her the truth. That would mean admitting something about himself he couldn’t even say to the man who shared his bed.

  Danny could see a couple in the apartment across the street, crammed together in the tiny kitchen, the woman laughing as she tried to reach something on a high shelf. Two windows down, he spied a lone man, only the back of his head visible above his recliner, the channels on his TV surfing by at rapid speed. It reminded Danny of nights he used to drive around after dark, his loneliness making it impossible for him to stay still, and he’d look into the lighted windows of the houses he passed, catching brief hints of the lives inside. He knew many of those homes were filled with the same troubles that haunted men the whole world over: marriages ending, illnesses beginning, dreams shattering, but he liked to pretend that he was a silent witness to peace, the cozy interiors full of people who had found their way to happiness.

  But Danny was learning that finding what made you happy was only the beginning of the journey—figuring out how to keep it often proved to be the unreachable destination.

  “SO THAT was Rachel,” Danny said when the motel door closed behind them. It was the first either one of them had spoken since they’d left the apartment ten minutes after Rachel had, still crying when she’d staggered out to her car.

  Miller didn’t answer, sat heavily on the edge of the bed. He would never forget the way she’d looked at him, her eyes drowning in sorrow. It would have been easier if she’d been angry, called him names, or thrown his ring back in his face. But that wasn’t Rachel’s way. She got her point across using guilt and regret.

  “What did you tell her?” Danny asked, leaning back against the dresser, kicking off his boots with a thud.

  “I don’t know,” Miller sighed. “Nothing she believed.”

  “Do you want her to believe it?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Is that what you want?” Danny’s voice was mild, unfazed by Miller’s glare. “To step back into that life you had, the one where you were going to marry Rachel?” Danny kept his eyes glued to Miller’s, not letting him look away.

  “It doesn’t matter. I don’t know if I can step back into that life.”

  �
��I’m not talking about ‘can’, Miller. I’m talking about what you want.”

  Miller pressed his lips together, shaking his head in denial, his fingers tying crazy knots in his lap.

  “How long have you been fighting it?” Danny asked, his voice quiet. “Fighting who you really are?”

  Miller lay back on the bed, covering his eyes with one arm. That’s one of those questions it’s about time you answered, don’t you think?

  He heard the sound of Danny’s jacket landing on a chair, felt the bed dip when Danny stretched out next to him. “You can talk to me, Miller,” Danny said, his finger stroking along Miller’s jaw. “How long?”

  Miller opened his mouth, choking back a sob he hadn’t known was waiting there. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “My whole life, probably.”

  “That’s a hard secret to keep. Especially from yourself.” Danny’s lips were soft against Miller’s hand, his long body curving against Miller’s side. “Did your mom know?”

  Miller shrugged. “If she did, she never said anything. But I think maybe she suspected. She was always more careful with me somehow, like she was avoiding something painful, stepping lightly.”

  “What about your dad?”

  “I don’t think so. I doubt it. It wouldn’t have occurred to him… that he might have a son who was….” He let his voice fade, not able to say the word. Another sob slammed against the back of his teeth. He’d never known he was such a coward. “Danny?”

  “Hmm?” His warm fingers still trailed over Miller’s jaw, soft and soothing.

  “How did you know… about me?”

  “I didn’t, not at first.”

  “When?”

  “I had an inkling that day on the park bench. Something in the way you looked at me. I was so goddamn attracted to you.” Miller could hear the smile in Danny’s voice. “And the way you stared at me then, I thought maybe… maybe you were feeling it too.”

  Miller blew out a shuddering breath. “I felt it. I didn’t want to, but I did.”

  “Look at me,” Danny whispered, pulling on Miller’s arm. “Look at me.”

  Miller withdrew his arm, turning his head when Danny put gentle pressure against his cheek. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Miller. It’s like having blond hair or freckles.” His smile was tender and crooked as his finger brushed across Miller’s nose. “It’s just who you are.”

  “Nobody’s ashamed of having freckles, Danny.”

  Danny’s eyes flared, his hand yanking hard in Miller’s hair. “You don’t have to be ashamed. That’s a choice you’re making.”

  “I can’t accept it the way you can.” Miller looked up at the ceiling, tears battling against his eyelids.

  Danny flipped onto his back, both of them staring at the ceiling as if it were a sea of stars instead of dingy white plaster clustered with stains. “You’ll never be happy with her,” Danny said finally.

  Miller wanted to be angry, to ask Danny what the fuck he knew about it anyway, but he couldn’t muster the energy. It was hard to be self-righteous when your bluff was called. “I know,” he said instead.

  Danny rolled on top of him and cradled Miller’s face between his hands. “I hated seeing her there. With you.” His voice was fierce. “I hated it.”

  Miller hooked his legs around Danny’s, arching his hips up, holding Danny prisoner with his body. “Now you know how I feel about Griff,” he said between clenched teeth.

  Danny’s head jerked back. “What?”

  “I met him. And it made me crazy, thinking about you and him….” Miller captured Danny’s earring between his lips.

  Danny’s breath stuttered in his chest as Miller’s tongue snaked behind his earlobe. “When did you meet him?”

  “A few weeks ago. Wanted to see if he knew anything about Hinestroza.” That was as close as he could come to telling Danny the truth. He didn’t have the courage to be honest about Ortiz or to let Danny know how dangerous it had felt to sit across from Griff, how Miller had thought maybe he could kill him if he said the wrong thing—made Miller visualize too clearly what Griff and Danny had done together in bed. How ever since, Miller wondered if he, who had never been with a man before Danny, could possibly compete with someone like Griff, who oozed sex out of every pore.

  Miller pushed off with his leg, using his weight to flip them over and pin Danny against the mattress. Danny moaned, low and sensual, as Miller licked his way up his body. “Did he ever make you feel this good?” Miller growled, lips curving over Danny’s stomach, tongue running through the hair on his chest as Danny’s white T-shirt bunched up under his arms.

  Jealousy wasn’t an emotion Miller was familiar with; he hadn’t mastered tricks for handling it or learned secrets of containment the way he had with other unpleasant feelings. He wasn’t used to the harsh scrape of pain when he heard Griff’s name, like being whipped on the inside. He couldn’t seem to clamp down on the uncertainty quickly enough, wasn’t able to stop himself from wondering what exactly Danny had felt for that man, what he still felt, whether Miller was only getting what was left over.

  Danny’s eyes were foggy with lust, his throat vibrating under Miller’s mouth as he groaned when Miller stroked him through his jeans, fast and rough. “Did he ever make you come as hard as I did last night?” Miller demanded. He could hear the insecurity behind his words but didn’t know how to hide it, his hand digging into Danny’s thigh. “Did he?”

  Miller waited for Danny to say something smartass, talk dirty, maybe. But Danny just stared at him with wide eyes, searching his face. “Did he?” Miller asked again, his voice cracking.

  Danny brought one hand up, passing his fingers over Miller’s mouth. “Shhh,” he soothed. “It’s all right, Miller. There’s no reason for you to be jealous.” He pressed against Miller’s lower lip with his thumb, his eyes gentle. “I never loved him.”

  “Danny,” Miller moaned, burying his face in Danny’s neck. He knew what Danny was telling him, wished he could say something back, something that Danny would be able to hold onto when he left. But in the end Miller had to be content to tell Danny without words, rocking inside him, his body whispering all the things he could not say.

  THE SHARDS of light coming in through the curtains cut across Danny’s face as he slept, the shadows playing on his skin. He was the most gorgeous thing Miller had ever seen, like a Greek god or an ancient statue in some museum. Miller kissed his bare shoulder, running his tongue along the protruding bone.

  Colin had called ten minutes ago, waking Miller out of a sound sleep but not disturbing Danny. They’d found Ortiz, or thought they had. No fingerprints or dental records, but a neighbor had identified him when his body was discovered eleven years ago in an abandoned warehouse outside Dallas. Tortured and shot in the stomach, left to bleed to death on the concrete floor. Even with all his injuries, the medical examiner had said in her report that it probably took a long time for him to die. No suspects, although Ortiz’s neighbor thought he was involved with drugs. The local police found cocaine in his apartment when they searched it, a fairly big stash. No fingerprints at the warehouse, no physical evidence, just lots and lots of blood.

  Danny hadn’t had any more bad dreams, not since Miller had been sleeping beside him. His demons were resting now. But come morning Miller was going to have to drag them out from their gloomy hiding places, force them into the light. No more stalling, no more excuses. He had to know the truth. Miller almost hoped the truth would be something he could not bear, answers so horrible they would transform Danny before his eyes, turn him into a monster and not a man, not the man Miller wanted so damn much. He recognized his own desperation—searching for anything that would make it easier for him to let Danny go.

  THEY CUT off Ortiz’s thumb first, just to ensure they had Danny’s undivided attention.

  Danny had known something was wrong the minute Madrigal picked him up for the hastily arranged meeting with Hinestroza, who was in town for a few days. Madrigal had been
too eager when he’d appeared on Danny’s doorstep, humming with anticipation, giving Danny sidelong glances filled with smirking glee. The dull press of worry had escalated to the sharp edge of panic when they’d reached the warehouse and Madrigal had marched Danny inside, his hand biting into Danny’s bicep as he shoved him into a cold, metal folding chair.

  Ortiz was already seated, his ankles duct-taped to the narrow chair legs, his torso bound with a thick black cord, his eyes taking up all the room in his face. Hinestroza was sitting behind a long, narrow table, his face serious, hands clasped as though he were about to begin an important business meeting. Another man, one of Madrigal’s assistants, stood next to Hinestroza’s chair.

  “Mr. Hinestroza, what—” Danny choked out.

  “Danny—”

  “What’s going on?” Danny turned to look at Ortiz. “What happened?”

  “Danny.” Hinestroza’s voice was icy with reprimand; he did not like being interrupted.

  “Mr. Hinestroza, whatever’s going on, I can explain it. I can—”

  “You can explain the cocaine that was stolen from the last shipment?” Hinestroza’s eyebrows went up. “Well, then, I’d be very interested to hear about that, Danny.”

  Danny’s stomach contracted into a tiny ball, terror worming its way into every cell of his body. “Ortiz,” he moaned. “What the fuck did you do?”

  “Danny. Danny!” Hinestroza snapped, but Danny was too frightened to acknowledge him, his brain trying frantically to come up with a lie, something that would stop this before it was too late. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hinestroza motion to Madrigal, who stepped forward, grasping Ortiz’s wrist with strong fingers.

  “Wait!” Danny cried, eyes skidding from Ortiz to Madrigal to Hinestroza and back again. His blood was pounding in his ears. He couldn’t hear, couldn’t focus, didn’t know if he should watch or look away, didn’t know whether to beg or fight.